


Recieved in Good Order

by DwarvenBeardSpores



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, (mostly), Conversations, Flaming Sword, Fluff, Headcanon, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-31 22:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18323207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarvenBeardSpores/pseuds/DwarvenBeardSpores
Summary: “Excuse me, gents,” he said, “but there’s meant to be a sword around here somewhere as well, at least, that’s what it says here at any rate, and I was wondering…”Aziraphale seemed embarrassed. He looked around himself, vaguely puzzled, then stood up, to discover that he had been sitting on the sword for the last half hour or so. He reached down and picked it up. “Sorry,” he said, and put the sword into the box.-Crowley and Aziraphale drive home and talk about the sword.





	Recieved in Good Order

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my hot take on Aziraphale sitting on his sword. As a fic!

“You weren’t really going to keep the sword, were you?” Crowley said. He stretched; even a demon’s arms could get tired after spending most of a day clutching a steering wheel in panicked desperation. The jeep obligingly kept itself on the road.

Aziraphale coughed and turned to look out the window. He’d been watching Crowley for most of the ride and Crowley’s skin felt warm, alert under his gaze. “No, no of course not. What would I do with it these days?”

“Right,” said Crowley. He leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. “It’s just, you were sitting on it for ages.”

Aziraphale looked vaguely embarrassed. That didn't necessarily mean anything; Aziraphale looked embarrassed because he thought he ought to at least as much as he actually felt embarrassment. “I suppose I was,” he said. “Barely even noticed. It must have been the shock.”

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. “The shock.”

The thing was, Aziraphale had history with that sword. First act of rebellion and all that. And while Aziraphale might not have wanted to _wield_ it any more than he wanted to, say, bunt a softball at one of Heaven’s company picnics, it wasn’t the sort of thing he would lose track of.

There was something fragile in the air, a new beginning on an Earth that wasn’t supposed to exist. Would it break if Crowley pushed the issue too far? Perhaps he should wait, but Crowley had always disliked not knowing things.

“It’s just, well,” Aziraphale said. “It _was_ mine originally.”

Crowley grinned. Perhaps he didn’t have to push after all.

“And I suppose I thought somebody ought to hang onto it. Keep it safe and so on.”

“Who’s had it since we lost track of it?” Crowley asked. “They seem to have kept it safe enough.” He somehow doubted that the deliveryman who’d had Aziraphale sign had been hoarding the horsepeople’s symbols in his basement. But then, stranger things had happened.

Aziraphale clasped and unclasped his hands in his lap. “If this were to all happen again,” he said quietly. “The-- the fish, and the End Times, all of it…”

“Ngk,” said Crowley, who had been trying not to think about that just yet. The jeep swerved slightly and he returned one hand to the wheel just in case, but it absently fell into his lap as he watched Aziraphale talk. The jeep didn't seem to care.

“She’d need the sword back, wouldn’t she? War, I mean.”

“And you thought you’d hang onto it until someone came for it,” Crowley said, things slotting into place. “We’d know when it was building. We could be ready.”

“Er... I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far,” Aziraphale began. “I hadn’t really thought…”

But it went farther than that. Give Aziraphale the sword back, let him wrap it in a fire blanket and bury it under mountains of books and papers and souvenirs, and someday someone would come to collect it only to be met with a rather flustered _“oh dear, you don’t think I’ve still got the thing, do you? How foolish of me, I’ve no idea where it’s gone off to, yes of course I’ll let you know if it turns up.”_ Whoever-it-was might try to insist, but Aziraphale could out-stubborn anyone if he really wanted. They might try citing Heavenly regulations at him, but Aziraphale had an entire angelic lifetime of experience finding the loopholes that allowed him to do exactly as he pleased.

Aziraphale was back to staring out the window, a slight flush to his cheeks, hands rubbing his thighs. He’d stood up to Heaven and Hell, and then in the few minutes it took to sit down afterwards he’d planned out a whole future act of subversion, possibly without admitting it to himself, and Crowley loved him for it.

“It was a good try, anyway,” Crowley said, and realized he was beaming.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale turned back to Crowley and looked him over, before softening and taking Crowley’s hand in both of his. “I’ve been so worried…”

He wasn’t talking about the sword anymore, but about the Earth, and Crowley, and himself. “We’ll figure something else out,” Crowley said, beaming harder. He couldn’t seem to stop. “And they might not plan the same thing over again, anyway. Not after how today went down. Like…”

“Like a lead balloon?"

“Yeah,” Crowley said, feeling less leaden than he had in centuries. He lifted Aziraphale's hand and kissed his knuckles gently. “Just like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought. 
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr as dwarven-beard-spores, dreamwidth as dwarvenbeardspores, and twitter as @beardspores.


End file.
